It's been a long time coming that I write this blog, considering I drafted it originally back in the spring of 2015. I'm writing perhaps from the perspective that only a younger numismatist can (I'm currently 20 as of this post). This post may seem longwinded, and no one may read it, but I feel like I should share this story with anyone who potentially may do so. Back in January of 2014, my father and I were rummaging through the remnants of my grandparent's ceiling, knowing that contained inside was a shoebox filled with my Pappy's coin collection. After some searching, we discovered the box, and within the WWII cigarette tin and eyeglass case that his coins and bills were housed in. Keep in mind that both of my grandparents at the time were still alive and well, but they wanted us to go ahead and find them while we could. After some weeks of organizing and categorizing the pieces, I told my Pappy that I was done going through them, and that I would get him the money for everything as soon as I could. He told me, "No, you take those home with you and put them in with your stuff. Do what you do with them, just keep them in the family." As a man who'd suffered two major strokes in his life, my Pappy often times had difficulty speaking, but on this night was able to speak clearly for whatever reason. After telling me this and me making sure that this was what he wanted, my Pappy, father, and I all began to cry. I was in no way expecting him to entrust all of these coins to me, but for him to do meant the world to me at the time.